


The Grey Monk

by GrilledTandooriSmoke



Series: The Ghost of Abel [2]
Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, V is Not Part of Vergil, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:20:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24635221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrilledTandooriSmoke/pseuds/GrilledTandooriSmoke
Summary: In almost all of Vergil's memories, his younger twin brother, Dante, is an unstoppable force. That kind of force is exactly what V needs if he ever hopes to reunite the two pieces of Vergil's soul.
Relationships: Dante & V (Devil May Cry)
Series: The Ghost of Abel [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1658035
Comments: 6
Kudos: 38





	The Grey Monk

**Author's Note:**

> Happy June 15th!
> 
> I feel like V's anthology of Blake poems is pretty thin for the pure robust content Blake has. The anthology I have is REALLY thick, over 900 pages! It might just be that V's book contains the poems that has illuminated art. Which is a problem for me because then I don't know what poems I have that don't have any art! I'd like to have an anthology with illuminated art too. That bookseller did Vergil so good.
> 
> AND SPEAKING OF ROBUST please enjoy!

Scrounging up enough money to hire for a demon extermination was troublesome, V reflects while flipping through the bills in his hand. There are only so many robbers in Red Grave to rob and demon extermination doesn't come cheap. It should be enough for a major job at least, even if it is only skirting the edge.

He counts the money one last time to make sure it's all there, then tucks the cash into an envelope and hands it to Morrison who does his own brief check before pocketing it with a grin.

"Pleasure doing business," the broker says, tipping his hat to V. "I'm gonna have a little chat with Dante first. I'll bring you in after, explain the situation and all. Sound good?"

Finding Dante’s middleman was also troublesome, although notably less than collecting the necessary funds. It took visiting five separate bars and asking three different people just to be sure, but he'd found Morrison in the end. Relying on the hazy memories of a half soul from passing moments of what seems like a lifetime ago isn’t the most reliable method of checking information. Who knew?

"Thank you," V nods.

Morrison chuckles, "Anytime. For the right price that is." He adjusts his hat before making his way across the street, whistling a jaunty little tune to himself.

V leans against the wall behind him, assessing the building in front of him. Devil May Cry? What an interesting name. And a business with quite the branding too, if the unlit neon sign above the doors is any indication.

The building isn’t quite what he expected. It's hard to have expectations when you don't know which are your own. He knew Vergil’s younger twin brother had started a devil hunting business, yet for some reason he thought it would be a more active operation. Not slow, sleepy, or mundane of all things. It’s almost hard to reconcile with the fact that this is where loud and boisterous Dante ended up.

The last clear memories Vergil has of Dante are from when they were both nineteen, when he and Arkham had raised the Temen-ni gru. Aggressive. Keen. Annoying. Getting to fight Dante then had been both exhilarating and disappointing, partly because a worthy opponent was exactly what Vergil needed, and partly because Dante had refused their father's power. At first, anyway. That Dante had been powerful despite his initial denial of his demonic heritage. And Vergil had lost.

The most scattered memories Vergil has of Dante are in a sort of red and purple filter. V recognizes that Vergil had some sort of awareness at that point in his life (the pieces Mundus hadn't entirely stamped out, it seems), Dante is rather unmistakable after all—a long red leather coat coupled with white hair isn't exactly what one would call common. Not unlike their youth, Dante had again been a strong opponent.

(There's a part of Vergil that vehemently believes if he had been of sound mind and at full strength, he would have defeated Dante. Despite Mundus's power, he feared the puppets capable of being stronger than him and actively tried to prevent it. That's why he locked up Nightmare. Vergil certainly would have become more powerful if not for that.) The last moments he recalls involve something cherished falling and Dante's quiet look of realization, and then everything fades away in wisps of light.

Time has passed since both instances, so it makes V wonder what kind of man awaits beyond the building's double doors, both in terms of power and in personality. With defeating Vergil several times, despite the resentment it fosters, it at least makes for a good track record. Yet the demonic energy emanating from the building suggests something less than what remnants of power he'd felt from Vergil's devil.

This is the same man who sealed away Mundus and defeated Argosax the Chaos, both powerful former rulers of Hell. And if he managed to do that, there’s little else V thinks Dante can’t accomplish. Even so, there’s a part of him that anxiously nags at him. He’s betting his life on Dante’s abilities, and if Dante were to somehow lose…

V pulls out his book, opening it to the last poem he had been reading. The poems are tinged with nostalgia. Blake's works have given him a somewhat better understanding of Sparda's eldest. They've also eased a few of his worries in the past several hours. It's… comforting.

“Nervous, huh?” Griffon says, materializing on his shoulder. “Come to think of it, you’ve never met Dante before, have you?”

V’s eyes flick to his familiar. “Am I to assume you have?”

“Ehhh, you could say something like that. That was _years_ ago though! Makes you wonder how old he is now. Probably a geriatric by now, right?"

He shakes his head, “He’s not that old,” then considering it, “probably.”

“Well, you never know. Anyway, you don’t have much to be nervous about!” Griffon says with a shake of his feathers. “Sure, you’re meeting the guy who killed his twin brother whose human soul is now inhabiting your body, but since you’re not Vergil, he’s less inclined to hurt you! Er, most likely.”

V lets out an amused huff and gives Griffon a look. “You’re right, I feel much better now, thank you.”

"It’s nice to be appreciated," Griffon puffs his chest. "Now heads up," he flaps a wing out, pointing to Devil May Cry's red neon sign and lit windows, "looks like they're ready for ya. Keep it cool!" then promptly returns to him with one last laugh on his breath.

"Easier said than done," V mutters, walking across the street. _Can't turn back anymore,_ he thinks climbing the steps and in the door.

As soon as he sets foot inside, the smell of pizza hits his nose, the sound of old rock music on his ears, and against the tacky old wallpaper are photos of women in... swimsuits? No, V decides, this isn’t what he expected at all.

Morrison sits on the corner of a desk, just about to stand, and the other man behind it can only be Dante. Red leather coat and white hair bordering on grey. He’s certainly aged since Vergil had last seen him, not a geriatric like Griffon suggested. Still, how many years have passed? How old is Dante?

V also must have excellent timing, because Morrison has only just introduced him as the new client. Both Dante and Morrison stare at him. He quickly decides he doesn’t like the attention, choosing to lean against the wall with his book instead, cane tucked neatly under his arm.

“Listen,” Morrison says, probably to end whatever discussion they must have had earlier, “I’m gonna find Lady and Trish, bring them in on this.”

“What?!” Dante takes on an affronted tone. It’s surreal this is V’s first impression. “C’mon, you don’t think I can handle this gig on my own?”

“It’s a big job,” Morrison insists. “Big job, Dante. You’re gonna need the help!” and with a push of the door, Morrison is out on the streets again, leaving both of them.

There are so many things on his mind, V almost doesn't know what to say. Can you fight? Will you help me? He knows what he wants to ask of Dante, but he doesn't know how to begin with saying it. How do you speak to the brother you never had?

Despite this, without looking up from his book, what trails out of his mouth is, "Not that I don't have faith in your abilities, but he is right when he says this is big."

Dante scoffs like having even a little help would kill him. Then again, for all V knows it might. "Yeah well, why don't you let me decide that after you tell me your name and give me all the details about this job?"

He feels his lips curl up into a smirk. The first few lines of the poem he's reading almost call to him. _"'I have no name, I am but two days old.'"_ He leaves the room in a state of pause. Perhaps Griffon’s dramatic energy is rubbing off on him. Chuckling, he snaps his book closed, making eye contact with Dante. _Blue eyes not unlike his own. They’re twins. They’re supposed to be the same._ "Just kidding. You can call me V."

Dante's gaze is assessing yet bored, as if he’s thinking something but doesn't care to admit it. "Okay, 'V.'" he leans back in his chair, "What can this humble devil hunter do for you?"

"A powerful demon is about to resurrect,” he responds with a shrug. “I suspect he plans to use a Qliphoth to become stronger."

"Qliphoth?"

“I take it you’ve never heard of it?” V asks, tilting his head.

“Let’s pretend I have but you explain it anyways” he says with a lazy wave of his hand.

"It's a demonic tree that supposedly has its origins before the birth of the Underworld. Naturally, it thrives on human blood and when fully nourished, produces a fruit. If any demon were to then eat that fruit, they would be in possession of powers said to rival a god's."

Dante manages to look only barely amused. "Another demon with a god complex, huh?” he chuckles, getting up and turning to only seat himself on the couch by the window. “It’s the same song and dance with these ones. The Last Tyrant, Demon King, Undefeatable Evil, etcetera, etcetera. They were more disappointing than they were strong, really let me down.”

He practically pouts. It’s nearly appalling. This may just be par for the course in a devil hunting business, moreso when one’s been at it for as long as Dante’s has, and it should be comforting. He has plenty of experience, V even convinced himself of it earlier. It’s not something Dante can’t handle. Instead, it only serves to make V irrationally annoyed.

“This one is special.”

“Okay,” Dante says as though he’s humouring V, “what’s so special about this one?”

“Allowing the Qliphoth to grow will merge both the human world and the Underworld,” V's smile tightens, “that sort of action has irreversible effects, as one might imagine. What balance there is between worlds is already being fractured. And this demon happens to be starting in a very populated area. Then again, I suppose that might just be another cliché, is it not?”

It's hardly discernible, but the bottom of Dante's jaw tenses, even if only slightly. Good. “It is,” he nods, “but I'll take him down before that happens, then no one has anything to worry about. You wanna give me the location and name of this demon?”

The fact this meeting is going as well it is, is frankly surprising. But what comes next falls out of V’s hands. His nerves are coiled tight.

"He's been staying in Red Grave City. A few minor demons have already started appearing there. As for his name," V pauses, tapping his cane against his shoulder, "they say it's Vergil.”

Dante's gaze becomes unreadable. The scattered hush left between them is racking, to the point the rock music in the background doesn't register. The only thing V can really hear are his own shallow breaths. There's no way to gauge his reaction.

Then he hums. "You know," he says, slowly clapping his hands as if to applaud him, "the lot of people who hire devil hunters tend to lie or exaggerate. Not that I can blame 'em most of the time, and I'm not petty enough to get mad about it. I'll still kill your demon. But man," he pins him with a fierce glare, but those eyes aren't human. They're dangerous, red, glowing, slit. He wants to cower. He can't move, "you've really gotta come up with better names, you know?"

The demonic energy in the air is pulsating. It's everywhere; the folds of his clothes, the curve of the bannister, there's no escape. If Vergil's was all encompassing, then this is _more._ He's truly stepped into a powerful demon's den. And that's supposed to be a good thing, right? It's exactly what he wanted, isn't it?

 _"Hey, V!"_ Griffon frantically calls from their bond, _"This doesn't feel so good!"_

His arms can't stop shaking, white-knuckling with the grip he has on his cane.

 _'You are a liar,'_ a woman whispers in his right ear. He hates it. He hates when she says this. _'No one believes you. Stop trying.'_

His body quakes, breaths coming out in pants, whether from his terror or from his righteous anger, it’s hard to tell. The indignance he feels is so arduous, the words take shape of their own accord. “You cannot _honestly_ believe,” he says, the tone of his voice just barely even, “after _everything_ I have been through, that I would lie about this.”

Dante’s eyes, though normal again, narrow dangerously, “You—”

“I would not have come to you if this was something I could handle alone,” he cuts in heatedly. “Whatever those names mean to you is not my business, but I _don't_ lie." Every moment he's left standing douses the fire in his veins, leaving him with a sense of wrong. He needs to get out, he needs to get out _now_. “I shouldn’t have bothered,” he sneers, turning to move (he’s not running away, he’s _not_ ).

Someone calls out.

The double doors slam shut.

* * *

Griffon emerges from his tattoos along with Shadow, who makes herself comfortable by pressing her weight against his leg. He can feel the burning question on their minds.

"Okay," Griffon starts because no one else will, "I thought Dante was supposed to be our last chance, and you just walk out on him?! What the _hell,_ V?! What happened?!"

"I don't know," he murmurs. The shame pooling in his stomach is so distinct now that his anger has ebbed away. It feels familiar in a terrible way, like he hadn't felt it in a long time but it's come back like an old foe with talons dug deep into his skin.

“‘I don’t know’ isn’t gonna cut it!”

The needles on his skin cut deeper, making his limbs tremble. He clenches and unclenches a hand, the palm distinctly damp with a cold sweat. “I got angry,” he says, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Yeah, no shit!" Griffon's feathers ruffle, a few small shocks of static falling off of them. "Why though!? I’d get it if you were just reacting to Dante’s whole intimidation shtick, but that wasn’t it, huh? What, was it Vergil?”

If only it was Vergil. It would be so easy to lay the blame with him. But it's not his fault, and for some reason that makes it harder. "No," V grudgingly admits through gritted teeth, "I got angry. I remembered something."

And that takes the wind out from under Griffon's wings as he sputters, "Wha—you remembered something? You're recovering your memories already?"

"It's hardly a memory," V scowls. "It would have been more convenient if I hadn't recalled it."

The space in between his chest is a little tighter now. Whoever that woman is— _was_ —her ghost has dug itself in there.

"Yeah, you're telling me. Shit, V. And that's what set you off?" Griffon groans, "Ugh, what now? You don't think Dante'll take the job? After all that money we got?"

It's a possibility that scares him. He doesn't want to believe Dante is the type to leave well enough alone, but what does he really know about Dante? More or less than Vergil, and for all of his memories of them, Vergil barely knows the first thing about his brother.

The only appropriate response he can give is, "I'm not sure." If Dante doesn’t take the job, they’re all dead. The thoughts jumble together, the dread in his stomach rising.

Shadow presses against his leg more fervently, nearly making him stumble. His hand hovers over her head and she reaches towards it. He traces patterns on her head, her magenta patterns lighting up in response. Is she really so starved for attention?

Griffon lands on Shadow’s back. She lets out a sound of irritation, her tail whipping to and fro but otherwise doesn’t make a move. “What about that Nero kid?”

A young man, white hair, light blue eyes, a dark blue coat. A demonic right arm. Yamato. It’s only within reach. He makes a grab for it. The other man crashes against something. Blood. Red. Not his. He has what he needs. He cuts open a portal. Blue fire, black void, a rush of air against his cloak. His legs ache with a monumental weight. One foot. The other. Through the tear. Just as the portal closes, a hoarse voice yells out.

_“Wait!”_

He winces, an anguish filled voice rattles around his head. It takes a moment for it to settle.

He understands Griffon's reasoning. A young man who, until recently, had been in possession of the Yamato. In all likelihood another of Sparda's kin. Probably strong. However, "His arm was just ripped off," V says aloud.

"O-okay, you have a point there. But who needs a right arm to beat devils, huh? Long as he can take Vergil down, it doesn't matter much does it?"

V shakes his head, tapping his fingers against his cane, "I don't think he'll be enough."

Although he can't say it for certain without meeting him first, he's fairly sure this Nero isn't in any shape to fight, much less be of use. He was outclassed by a Vergil who wasn't even in any state to fight himself. What exactly does that mean in the face of Vergil's devil?

"We aren't exactly rolling in options right now. It's more of a take it or leave it kinda deal."

Griffon is, of course, right. He doesn't have the luxury of being picky. V has to use everything he can. If Nero ends up being part of that, well, better to have him and not need him than the opposite.

The problem is that he's all the way in Fortuna, and making a round trip to Red Grave isn't exactly cheap nor timely. Not to mention his arm. Perhaps he would be willing to fight if he knew this demon was the one who took his arm? Or would that make him more of a liability?

Shadow suddenly straightens and growls, eyes locked on the mouth of the alley.

"Kitty says someone's coming," Griffon translates, "whaddya wanna do, V?"

V frowns. He nods his head at Griffon, and he's surreptitiously taken to the roof of the building, Shadow leaping back in his tattoos.

Griffon on his shoulder, he leans against the edge of the building to spy whoever may walk in. Lithe footsteps on pavement, his attention turns towards a body. It’s too dark to tell any of their features, no aura to them. Then in a flash, they disappear. A small gasp escapes him, this presence, it's—

"You’re not bailing out on me, are you?" an amused voice speaks out from behind him. Dante. How can he be so collected?

Griffon shakes his body to make himself appear larger, mussing V's hair. Dante eyes him with a thoughtful expression. "Hey—!" V lifts a hand to stop him.

"I hope you don't make it a habit of following people," he says, struggling to maintain an air of nonchalance.

Dante huffs a laugh as if a roof is a terribly mundane place to be having this conversation, "Oh, only the interesting ones." He tilts his head to V’s shoulder, “Friend of yours?”

“Of a sorts.”

Griffon mutters under his breath, something about having no respect.

“You aware that friend is a demon?”

“I would certainly hope so,” he says, “the contract we agreed on would be worth nothing if that were the case.”

He grins, tilting his head at him like he found an answer that left him satisfied with himself. “You're a witch then.”

V shrugs, “If that's what you want to think.”

Dante hums, nodding along. Then the amused expression on his face falls, turning into something more somber. He crosses his arms, and all he asks is “How do you know it’s him?”

Ah, V thinks as his heartbeat picks up. Dante’s willing to believe him. He’s going to have to make a bigger gamble than just mentioning Vergil then. With a breath, he motions to Griffon and summons Shadow from the ground as she begins prowling in front of Dante. “Do you recognize them?”

Dante squats down in front of Shadow, extending his hand for her to sniff. She doesn’t seem to appreciate it if her snarling is any indication. Dante looks somewhat disappointed. “Am I supposed to?”

V frowns. How can he make it anymore obvious?

“Wait wait, V, I got this,” Griffon clears his throat, “Flock off feather-face!”

For a moment there's no reaction, and then Dante's eyes widen with a sparked memory, a small "Huh," falling out of his mouth.

Griffon crows with delight, talons digging into V’s shoulder like he would fall off otherwise. "Your face! O-oh man, someone take a picture!" V raises a brow. He's missing something here.

"Thought you were dead," Dante manages to get out between Griffon's wheezes.

Griffon takes a moment to calm down to retort, "A demon's a demon even in death. Seems like your brother took some notes."

"Cute little saying." Dante looks towards V and jabs a thumb in Griffon's direction as though he's being inconspicuous, "Do you really believe this guy?"

"He hasn't given me any reason not to, surprisingly."

 _"Besides,"_ Griffon continues, "we're not with Mundus so there's no point in worrying about that. I kinda like it here. Don't have to deal with all the power struggle bullshit the Underworld has to offer. Or we won't _unless_ Vergil manages to merge the two worlds like a jackass!"

Dante doesn't look entirely convinced. But they're so close. He just needs one more push.

V’s hand shakily reaches inside of his coat and thumbs the pages of his book. “‘The iron hand crush’d the Tyrant’s head and became a Tyrant in his stead.’” he recites, feeling his nerves loosen even the slightest bit. Shadow pads up to him and curls around his legs, her body warm against his.

Dante nods his head almost absentmindedly, slapping his knees with his hands as he comes back to a stand. “I think I’ve heard all I need to.”

His tone feels so far away, like there’s still some sort of heavy conflict going on in his head. Without knowing whether that’s good or bad for him, V doesn’t dare let it get his hopes up, simply pocketing his book with an “I see.”

Dante walks up to the edge of the building and places his hands on his hips to look out on the city skyline. He takes a deep breath and lets it out with a heavy sigh. “You know,” he says, “I’m gonna need you to drop by the office sometime before next week, probably tomorrow. We can hash out the rest of the details then.” Then, with both feet on the edge of the building, he hops off.

V doesn’t bother looking over, shaking his head with a scoff. How annoying.

Dante hasn’t changed at all.

* * *

Two weeks later, the afternoon of May 16th sees V outside of Devil May Cry with Dante, Morrison, and two other women. The other devil hunters, Lady and Trish presumably.

Lady is familiar. Short dark brown hair, white shirt, red and green heterochromia eyes. The young woman from the Temen-ni gru incident; Arkham's daughter, if Vergil's memories are accurate. They don't give way to much else in terms of insight. Everything he knows about her is basic, something less than surface level. Any other observation V has to make has his eyes concentrated on her giant rocket launcher and what other firearms she must have equipped on her person. She's prepared if anything.

What he knows about Trish is somehow even less than that. She has the face of Vergil's mother which already makes for some conflicted feelings, and Vergil does have some memory of Trish herself, vague and spotty though they are. Something to do with Mundus and Nelo Angelo then. _~~Something better left forgotten.~~_ The Devil Sword Sparda is holstered on her back which means Dante must have some measure of trust in her if she wields his father's weapon. That or he's a bigger fool than V gave him credit for.

Either way her presence is… unsettling, and it has nothing to do with the fact Trish is a demon or her connection to Vergil’s mother. It’s a feeling he can’t grasp without knowing the full reason behind his discomfort, so he stands to the side and doesn’t draw attention to himself.

And it works to an extent. Their eyes pass over him and they don't bother talking to him. Until they bring in a helicopter.

“Wow, Morrison,” Dante whistles, “didn’t know you were rolling out the red carpet. I would’ve dressed better.”

V brings an arm over his eyes. The wind from the helicopter's blades tosses everyone's coats and hair, drowning out any other conversation. As soon as the dust settles and their method of transportation has landed, Lady and Trish chat and stroll up to the helicopter's doors. Dante hangs back for a moment before coming up himself. V follows.

Dante looks back at him quizzically, "Didn't realize you were coming with, Mr. Poetry," Lady and Trish have stopped talking. Dante gestures to his merry little group of devil hunters with a lazy grin. "S'not something the three of us can't handle. Wouldn't wanna have it come down to protecting you either, on account of how dangerous this job is an' all."

How one man can be so irritating without doing anything, V doesn't know. "I can protect myself," he says shortly.

Dante shrugs almost mockingly, “Your call,”

V pushes past, seating himself inside the helicopter with a sigh. He had vastly overestimated himself in thinking Dante would be easy to talk to if he wasn't his brother. Beside his own slip-up during their first meeting, it’s a wonder V hasn’t cracked, especially since Vergil insists on nothing except influencing his own emotions.

He pulls out his book. Halfway through the third stanza, he feels eyes on him, making it hard to concentrate. He glances up. Red and green heterochromia eyes meet his and along with them are a pair of blue.

Oh, he thinks averting his eyes with a scowl.

Lady and Trish are seated beside each other. Which means he's left beside Dante. Wonderful.

Though he attempts to return to his reading material, Lady catches his attention.

"Hey," she nods her head at him, "you're not on this job too, are you?"

Evidently, he's not going to get any reading done. He attempts to hide his annoyance with at least some measure of courtesy. "I was the one who requested it."

"You are?" the women exchange a look with each other and gaze back at him with what can only be a razor focus. He already regrets talking.

"We haven't exactly been given the most detailed rundown," Trish rests her head in her palm. There's a tension in his gut the longer he looks at her. It's frustrating and he knows she doesn't deserve it. He can't bear to look her in the eyes properly. "What exactly are we dealing with?"

"What do you know?"

"Morrison told us this demon is supposed to be the Demon King resurrected," her eyes narrow and it's so difficult to not be pulled into another of Vergil's memories about his mother; she looks like she's about to scold her children after the swordfighting got too rough, "but that doesn't make sense because Mundus should be tightly sealed, unless it's somehow been tampered with."

"We don't even know if it is Mundus since no one's mentioned our target's name," Lady adds, "Dante hasn't told us anything Morrison already has. Really love it when he does that." she says with a curse under her breath.

They really haven't been told much, V thinks. Is that really ideal when they're supposed to be working together? In some aspects, he expected this given the… personal nature of this job, but it doesn't excuse them not even knowing what basics he established with Dante.

“Mundus is still sealed as far as I know.” from the corner of his eyes where Morrison and Dante are discussing something outside, Dante stops moving. How funny. “By gaining more power, this demon seeks to establish himself as the new king. They call him Urizen.”

Lady seems to accept his words though Trish looks contemplative. If she plans to ask anything else, she’s interrupted by Dante hopping in next to him, and Morrison who begins speaking to the pilot.

Dante places a hand over his heart, feigning hurt. "You didn't talk about anything fun without me, did you?"

"Nothing you probably don't already know," Lady retorts.

"Aww, don't be like that," he groans, "there’re a lot of mysterious things waiting to be discovered, isn't that right, V?"

V's skin sparks once Dante pats his shoulder. His body tenses—he's about to draw his sword, they need to finish this, there isn't a possibility where both of them come out alive—but he forces it to relax, taking in a deep breath. "That is the nature of threats as big as this, is it not?" his voice is only so steady.

Dante's expression is carefully pensive, there's no way he didn't notice, but it's quickly wiped away as he gets boastful with Lady. "There, see?"

"Whatever," she sighs. Beside her, Trish shakes her head, smiling.

The pilot has given them the thumbs up. Morrison reaches around his seat to look back at them. “Ready to go boys and girls?” he chuckles as though they’re going on a school field trip. He passes them headsets which Lady, Trish, and V take, but Dante declines his.

“I’m gonna take a nap,” he justifies, yawning.

After placing his headset on, despite their noise cancelling, V can't bring himself to focus on anything except the blades spinning above him. Only a few moments later and he's weightless. It's an entirely different feeling from being lifted by Griffon. It's larger, more forceful, and a bit stomach turning, but it isn't terrible even if he does prefer his familiar. Eventually, it levels out and the movement is smoother, easier. Griffon might not measure up to this, he concedes.

He takes a quick glance to his side. From what he can tell, Dante actually did manage to fall asleep, it's a mystery how. If he could do the same he would, but it just feels like something's about to burst the longer he has to carry Vergil's soul. He's so close, he thinks mulling over his plan. In a few moments it will all be over. All he needs to do is be patient and—

"It isn't often clients come on the job with us," Lady's voice is directly in his ears. He blinks. That is a very different sensation than hearing Griffon through their contract, "you're not expecting us to guard you, right? If you are, that comes with an extra fee." her eyes are expectant, near hopeful.

V stares at her until her words actually settle. The moment they do, he huffs a laugh. "No, I'll be fine."

The way she looks him up and down indicates her thinking much differently. He knows he doesn't cut much of an intimidating figure, and while he doesn't have anything to prove, he's assuredly not helpless.

V holds out his arm and Griffon takes shape from his ink.

"A demon?" Trish asks.

V nods. Griffon's head swerves from the women to him, as if there's a less than savoury thought forming in his head. His beak moves and what a pity that V can't hear him. He taps his headset.

 _"What a group,"_ Griffon comments through their bond, _"makes you think some things, doesn't it?"_

_'I don't know what you mean.'_

_"Sure you don't,"_

V hums, dragging his finger down Griffon's head. His familiar leans into his hand, eyes closed. He hadn't bothered petting him before, not like Shadow. If this is his response, V figures he probably should have tried earlier.

"Less work for us, I guess," Lady mutters. The way she looks at Griffon is doubtful, but she doesn't express any of it vocally. Neither does Trish for that matter.

From there on, the rest of the helicopter ride is spent in a stilted silence none of them seem to be willing to break. It’s rigid and awkward and the small talk between Morrison and the pilot does not alleviate the atmosphere. Lady and Trish look like they would both be better served if V wasn't there. Thankfully, at this point he can comfortably look out the window with Griffon in his lap.

And the sight from the window—

 _"I didn't say you could stop,"_ Griffon grumbles. V doesn't respond, gritting his teeth. Griffon pops up from under his arms, tilting his head at him, _"What's got you so—oh,"_

An ugly pillar of thick gray root, folded over itself innumerable times to become a porous and trypophobic mess. Several buildings have already assimilated around the base. Potentially a city block.

Lady presses a hand against the window, “What is that?” Trish looks over, a brow raised. They're devil hunters. There’s no doubt they've seen things before, but this must be new.

“The Qliphoth,” he murmurs. It’s grown at a faster rate than he expected it to.

They're tiny from up here, but those dots on the ground must be a crowd of people. A fair amount of them. _“Are they really just standing around like that?”_ Griffon strains his neck to get a better look. _“They not realize a demon could pop out anytime?”_

_‘A fool sees not the same tree that a wise man sees.’_

Dante, apparently having woken, stretches, nearly hitting V in the head. He yawns, and his mouth does move. Understanding him is a different matter.

Regardless, Dante looks past them. The look on his face when he sees the Qliphoth for himself is blank. But it must resurface some emotions for him. A spire raised in a city with Vergil waiting in it. Unfortunately, it's a familiar story.

The pilot calls out that they'll soon be landing. They can't realistically land in front of the Qliphoth. Too many civilians. So the pilot settles them a little less than a block away.

Dante lets out another obnoxious yawn once they step out.

"Sure you're not gonna fall asleep on the job?" Lady snorts.

"No promises,"

It doesn't take long for them to pass through the crowd and enter the Qliphoth. No one really tries to stop them. Two broadswords, a rocket launcher, and a large bird tend to have that effect. The only clear entryway is surrounded by rubble but the roots don’t seem to mind, only growing further up and around it. The roots are sharp, jagged and thick. It’s exactly what one would expect from a demonic tree.

It’s a disgusting reminder of what lengths Urizen will go to. And what trials V has to face.

The interior is much of the same with the added bonus of a distinctly putrid odour. V tries not to let it bother him, barely holding back a gag. It's just one more thing to suffer. His job is almost done. All that’s left is defeating Urizen and releasing the burden on his soul.

Griffon flies in close as if to whisper something in his ear. _“This is where things get real,”_ he says. _“We’ve got all the right cards in our hand, it should work out. If it doesn’t, we’re dead."_ It's morbidly comforting the worst thing they can lose is their lives. It doesn't keep the anxiety away as much as he'd like.

V grips his cane tight. Griffon keeps talking. _"Just remember to get the final blow in before Dante does. Wouldn't be funny to come this far only for us to die anyway."_

He's well aware of the role he has to play. He can't get too close but he can't be too far either. It's a vexing balancing act that leaves him too concerned he’s leaning to one side more than the other. As long as he stays behind Dante—

A shiver runs down his spine the second he plants his feet on the ground and it's like everything in the air is telling him not to take another step. There’s such a pure concentration of power coursing through each and every root of the Qliphoth and there’s only one thing that power can be feeding. It’s so _potent._

He can hardly force himself to swallow past the heart in his throat. He wasn’t naive enough to think Urizen wouldn’t have gotten stronger from the time Vergil split himself in two, but this? This is _obscene._ Never mind him, not even Dante can match this.

Dante keeps walking. Can he not feel it?

“This is far worse than I thought…”

Griffon shoots him a surprised look while Dante turns back to look at him. His expression is somewhere between smug and pitying. It makes his skin crawl.

“There’s no crime in turning tail, V. These things might be a little too much for ya.”

Some poor notion of pride is pounding against him, he’s his brother’s equal and can handle anything he can, but he knows when to give in. He just needs a moment to compose himself.

“You’re right,” he admits after a beat, “I’ll leave the rest to you.”

“Wha, wha—what?” Griffon sputters as he turns to leave, flitting over his shoulder. “Wh—whoa, my, my, V. All the way down here and turnin’ tail, really? Huh?”

“One must always have an insurance policy.”

One last card, he thinks, clenching his hand. One last card to play.

* * *

A month later with the missing Devil Sword Sparda found, V somehow stumbles upon Dante’s body on a makeshift throne of Qliphoth roots. 

He’s alive.

It’s astounding how fortunate one man can possibly be.

Resent pools in his stomach. Yes, Dante’s always had all the luck. Something else that hasn’t changed. 

He hates it, he thinks as he drags Sparda closer. All of it. Each and every emotion connecting him to the man before him. 

“If only you could defeat Urizen...” he mutters. “If only… No.” 

“V? No no no…” 

"If only _neither_ of you existed…" he grunts as he lifts Sparda, his arms trembling with the effort. "Then I...!"

"Don't do it, V! No no NO!"

The Sparda drops. 

Dante's eyes open.

**Author's Note:**

> "My Brother starv'd between two Walls,  
> "His Children's Cry my Soul appalls ;  
> "I mock'd at the wrack & grinding chain,  
> "My bent body mocks their torturing pain.
> 
> "Thy Father drew his sword in the North,  
> "With his thousands strong he marched forth ;  
> "Thy Brother has arm'd himself in Steel  
> "To avenge the wrongs thy Children feel.
> 
> "But vain the Sword & vain the Bow,  
> "They never can work War's overthrow.  
> "The Hermit's Prayer & the Widow's tear  
> "Alone can free the World from fear.
> 
> "For a Tear is an Intellectual Thing,  
> "And a Sigh is the Sword of an Angel King,  
> "And the bitter groan of the Martyr's woe  
> "Is an Arrow from the Almightie's Bow.
> 
> "The hand of Vengeance found the Bed  
> "To which the Purple Tyrant fled ;  
> "The iron hand crush'd the Tyrant's head  
> "And became a Tyrant in his stead."
> 
> — The Grey Monk in William Blake's Poems from the Pickering Manuscript
> 
> Woo boy, The Grey Monk is actually 9 stanzas long, so I skipped the first four just for brevity! And because I think the following 5 stanzas have a lot of imagery and symbolism that better fits DMC!
> 
> The grey monk is supposed to be the one narrating here. From what I've read his "greyness" is supposed to connote age, experience, wisdom, and morality. As this poem was written around the French Revolution, Blake would have seen the effects of war on the people.
> 
> When the monk narrates ideas around "my brother, thy children, thy father" he's lamenting the cycle of violence and never-ending injustice. 
> 
> And then in the last stanza with the Purple Tyrant, since this was the French Revolution it's _obviously_ supposed to be King Louis XVI. Not Thanos. _Definitely_ not him! 
> 
> Now obviously, there are some discrepancies between this poem and DMC. Ofc I wanna say Father here is Sparda, thy Brother be Dante, and thy Children be Nero. Unfortunately, Mundus isn't purple, so he doesn't play the part perfectly but eh. It is what it is!
> 
> I'd love to know what you think! Have a great day!!


End file.
